ExtraOrdinary
by ntljns
Summary: Rory never felt like he was missing out, until he saw something that made him realize what a unique companion he is. Very minor spoilers for Let's Kill Hitler.


**Hi everyone! Thanks for deciding to read my story, really means a lot. Reviews are always welcome. This is my first DW fic and also the first one I've written in 3 years (wasn't kidding when I said I like reviews! Need to see how time has treated my writing...) A few notes before we begin:  
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**Disclaimer: I don't own or make any money from Doctor Who or Jammy Dodgers...unfortunately...**

**Warnings: Mild Slash**

**Enjoy!  
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For being nearly twice his age, he really makes me feel childish. It's so stupid and petty and irrational how I react to him. I'm just so…lost and confused and hopeless and small and brutally, unmistakably, crushingly jealous. Why not me?

That's the thought that's been turning over and over again in my head for the past few weeks – or what I assume to be weeks, for being in a time machine, keeping track of time proves a formidable task. Why not me? It's like I'm seven again and have been left out of a joke; I just want to cross my arms and stamp my feet in frustration, grit my teeth and squeeze my eyes shut. God, it's just so _annoying _at times; it's so petulant feeling like this, I really wish I didn't. I try so hard to get past it, but I suppose the need to be included is something we never really grow out of.

It's just so bloody unfair! My fist slams against the wall my forehead's leaning on, eyes closing at the resounding thump. I sigh softly, pressing myself deeper into the blue paint. But who am I to really say what's fair or not? It's his life, he can lead it however he wants. I just…deep breath, and hold it…I just wish I could be someone more important in his life. Like all the others.

At first I thought it was just Amy and River, which was fine. I was content to be the odd Pond out. But then I saw the archives. There have been so many people aboard this ship and so many of him – but I could always tell it was him. He might've changed height, hair colour, eye colour, apparent age, it didn't matter, I just knew it was him by his presence. The Doctor.

It hurt. Like a dull ache in the pit of my stomach that slowly spread outwards weighing heavily upon my body. It was suffocating, gripping at my lungs like they were made of clay. The only thing remotely close to the sensation was the time Amy said she thought I was gay and I thought I'd lost her forever.

Looking back thinking me gay should really have been more painful than the archival revelation, yet another one of the twisted, baffling pitfalls of my emotional turmoil.

What's so wrong about me? Am I not smart enough? Not caring enough? Unattractive? (I know we all joke about my nose, but I didn't think it was that much of a deterrent.) Too ordinary? Too plain? Too boring? Is my life just too unexciting for him? Maybe I'm too old? That excuse usually brings a smile to my face. Except on days like today, where the blackhole that seems to be my insides grows bigger and pulses wave after wave of unwanted childish self pity and envy through me.

Deep breaths, Rory. In, out, in, out. I flatten my fingers against the cool surface of the wall, pressing the tips into the paint hoping some of the tension will escape my body. Jesus, is this what it's like for girls during their "time of the month"?

I want to scream and shout, pound my hands into the wall as hard as I can; to cry out my frustration at myself until all the water has left my body and all I can do is huddle on the floor, dry sobs wracking my body. I want to be sick. I want to break something. I want to see how many scratches it takes until I make myself bleed. I want my mom to pat my head and tell me everything will be ok. I want to be smothered in warm blankets, swallowed up by the cold sea; to cram myself in a teeny, tiny dark space, to free fall from an airplane into the endless sky. I want him.

He has kissed everyone aboard this ship. Why not me?

* * *

><p>I manage to count to 178 before I hear feet coming down the corridor. With one final breath, I push myself off the wall and turn opening my eyes to see the Doctor coming towards me. 179, breathe in, 180, breathe out. My shoulders relax a little.<p>

"Alright, Rory?" he asks, stopping a few feet in front of me, mouth quirked just on the one side. How quintessential of the Doctor I think dryly. The space between us is staggering. As well as never being kissed, he hardly ever touches me and always maintains a good distance, unless he's forced to come closer – either by Amy, tight quarters or the Tardis pitching suddenly causing us to fall into each other. My stomach lurches every time he hugs Amy (or anyone else for that matter), pats someone on the arm telling them 'good job' or gets right up in their face, eyes locking intensely as he most likely reveals what dastardly plans he has for the bad guys. I'm not suicidal enough to want to be on the receiving end of one of those lectures, but having spent so long at a restraining order's length away, I just want to be close to him, see the colour and depth of his eyes, feel his breath on my skin. Ha, wishful thinking Rory, there's obviously something wrong with you, otherwise you would've experienced all this already. Now, buck up, he asked you a question!

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm good," I rub my forehead trying to dispel my thoughts and wipe my mind blank. Shoving my hands in my pockets I look at him and see his eyebrow arch, questioning silently. "Just a bit of a headache is all," I offer up as answer. It's true to some extent: thinking about all my feelings towards him really does my head in.

A small frown graces his beautiful face. Beautiful? God, I'm really acting like a girl today. 195 in, 196 out. "Oh, well Amy and I were just deciding on where to go next, but if you're feeling unwell we can always just have a quiet day here on the Tardis," his hands spread apart as if to display his ship, like it's a prize to be won at a Bingo tournament.

"No, no, let's go somewhere," the last thing I need is to be left alone with my thoughts all day. Who knows what self destruction I could get up to? 206, 207, 208. "All the running and fresh air might actually help," I try to smile and lean towards the direction he came from, presumably the console room.

The Doctor clasps his hands together, full smile splaying across his lips. "Marvelous!" He spins on his heel and starts walking away, widening the gap between us. My heart always seems to skip a beat when he does that. Not in the happy, love struck way that you read about in books, but in the way where if it missed too many, it would probably stop working all together. I sigh dejectedly and follow behind him, knowing not to try and catch up because that'll only make him walk faster. "Now, I'm not sure if the planet we're going to actually has air, or really that much of an atmosphere at all, but never fear because…" I tune out, knowing that he's just spewing information, trying to be all clever. He thinks he's so cute when he's being clever. Truth is, he is. Just keep focusing on breathing, in and out; clearing thoughts of the Doctor and how cute he is and how bloody fucking cruel the universe can be. 228, 229, 230, 231…

* * *

><p>Running. No, actually more like sprinting, my feet hitting the ground hard and quick, propelling me forward as fast as they can. My heart is thrashing wildly against my ribcage, lungs burning as I greedily suck in breath after breath trying to find the strength and adrenaline to continue. The sound of jeers and cries rings strongly behind me, along with the thunderous roar of many pairs of feet. They're still far off, but I daren't look back. Keep looking forward, I tell myself, the Tardis coming closer into view.<p>

The Doctor reaches it first, hands scrambling in his pockets, eyes darting between the big blue box, Amy, me and the mob that based on sound is _definitely _gaining on us. "Doctor!" Amy calls, only a few feet from the Tardis now, me right on her heels. "Open the fucking door!" The muscles in my legs and chest start protesting violently, each breath becoming increasingly more difficult to take. I must be the most unfit Roman soldier to have ever existed.

"Really, Pond, language. There is no need…" his voice drowns out in the wind, the pounding of my heart, the wheezing of my throat, the steady drum of feet on the solid ground. I close in on the Tardis as the Doctor struggles to shove the key in the lock.

"Doctor!" Amy's warning tone. Definitely not to be messed with.

The Tardis door opens, Amy and the Doctor rushing inside. With one final burst of endorphins, I leap across the threshold, snapping the blue door shut behind me as the Doctor flips a switch on the console and the familiar whooshing sounds surround us as we disapperate.

I slump against the door, closing my eyes and panting harshly. Getting my breathing somewhat under control, I open my eyes and look up seeing the Doctor bent over the console, gasping for breath but smiling stupidly at Amy, who's leaning against the railing at the bottom of the stairs.

The Doctor gives what can only be described as a "whoop!" of excitement, running around the console and leaping down the stairs to land in front of Amy, grinning stupidly. "That was fun!"

My jaw drops and I look at him incredulously. Why was I so worked up that this death experience around every corner maniac didn't kiss me? It seems my wife is of a similar impression: "Fun? Doctor, at what point has running for your life, terrified and crapping your pants ever been constituted as fun?" She crosses her arms over her chest, eyebrow arching as she glares at him, the idiot still smiling madly. Surely madness shouldn't be _that_ attractive of a trait. "It was frightening, crazy, _deadly, _sore and…and…" she's wearing down, eyes and lips softening into an almost smile. "I guess it was kind of fun…"

The Doctor claps triumphantly like he knew all along she would agree with him. "That's the spirit, Pond!" He smiles warmly at her, eyes gazing adoringly at her face. The iciness creeps up my spine again, prickles piercing into my flesh. He's standing so close to her, faces mere inches apart. My chest tightens as I try to remember the last time he was that close to me willingly, breathing becoming labourious – and not because I'm out of shape. I force my hand to stay at my side and not to clutch at my heart. "Now, why don't you head off to bed? We've had a very busy day, lots of running about and angering people. I'm sure your feet are aching." Amy unfolds her arms and the Doctor steps forward and hugs her. I freeze against the door, chest constricting even more. My vision swims, making me feel lightheaded and dizzy but I continue staring, rooted to the spot. The Doctor leans back enough to press his lips to her forehead, muttering a soft "Rest now, Pond." My eyes sting as I feebly try to convince myself it's from the biting not-air of the planet we were just on and not because I would give anything to be in Amy's place right now.

They pull away from each other, Amy flashing a quick smile before turning and walking down the corridor to our room. The Doctor watches her until she's out of sight, smiling in that ancient, all knowing way of his. He turns back around and walks up to the console, hitting a few buttons here or there, glancing at a screen looking for a status update. The smile has left his face and while he's tinkering with his machine he looks…at peace. Old, weary and tired, but also content, like this is the life he will always lead, one adventure after the other.

He looks up from his ministrations and sees me, eyes going slightly wide as if forgetting I was here. The cold digs even deeper within me, contrasting with the burning of my lungs and throat begging me to release the breath I've been holding unknowingly. "Good night, Rory," he says turning back to his ship to fiddle with more switches and leavers.

Something within me snaps. That's it? After trying to force myself to become one with the wall this morning over my childish emotions towards the Doctor, after spending a whole day running and fighting for my life, after Amy gets a pep talk, a hug _and _a kiss, all I get is a sodding "good night?" Well, fuck you too, pal! Maybe I've learnt to deal with the pain of not getting the kisses, the touches, the close proximity, but to wave it about in my face like that and then just take it all away? Forget unfair, that's just mean.

My hands bunch into fists, air being forced out through clenched teeth. I push off the door and walk purposefully over to the stairs, seething as I glower at the man I adore but now seem to despise. "No," I grind out, stalking up the steps. The Doctor looks at me, face contorted in what I presume to be confusion. My heart's beating crazily, flush creeping up my neck as my hands begin to shake a little. "No, you can't just do that to me." I'm making my way around the console now, closing in on him, about to break the undisclosed boundary he's set up between us.

"Rory?" He's tentative, taking a step back.

"Don't you dare put any more space between us," I growl coming within a foot of him. I need to see his face properly, need to understand his reasons for doing this to me. Closing the space, we're only inches apart and while I'm more angry at him than I've been in a very, _very _long time, I can't help but feel elated at our nearness. This is the first time in God knows how long that I've been this close to him; close enough to see the flecks of gold in his eyes, to see the perfect berry tint of his lips, the way his chest rises and falls with each breath, how his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows.

The rage ebbs from my body, my shoulders and torso deflating, fingers uncurling. My heart still twitches quickly as I gaze upon the man that has been plaguing my thoughts. Tension uncoils in the pit of my stomach as I ask softly: "Why me?"

The Doctor's pupils dilate briefly before returning to normal. "I don't understand…" he trails off, just as quiet as me.

Deep breath Rory, you've decided this moment to end your life, best go out with a bang. My hands sweat, blush intensifying as it spreads to my face. I force myself to look him in the eye, wanting to see the reaction to my words. I breathe in through my nose, hold it, then release along with the question that's been invading my day to day life: "Why are you so affectionate with everyone but me?"

His eyebrows meet his hairline, mouth opening into a small 'o,' as the Doctor stands for the first time in my life – all three of them – speechless.

In for a penny, I think ruefully forging ahead. "Please don't try and deny it, Doctor. You never touch me, hug me, hell, you won't even come within two feet of me unless Amy's around." His gaze moves downwards, like a child who's been caught hiding his vegetables in his napkin. "You've never…" the burning is back in my eyes as I struggle to take another breath. "You've never kissed me."

The Doctor's eyes shoot up to look at mine, full of bewilderment and a million other emotions I can't name because I'm too focused on trying to keep the floodgates at bay. Another shuddering breath before I continue. "I've seen the ar-archvies, Doctor," I sniffle. Fuck sake, Rory, you're a Roman, try to have some dignity. "I know that you've kissed everyone who's ever been aboard this ship. My wife, my d-daughter, the other companions with the other yous."

A pink blush decorates his cheeks, his lips striving to form words as they move noiselessly. Something twists in the pit of my stomach as I watch him cling onto words with purchase: "Rory…I-I…" and then he cuts himself off.

"Please," I whisper, my eyes begging him. "Please, just tell me," the pain in my abdomen intensifies, a traitorous tear escaping down my cheek. The Doctor's eyes are riveted to it, following its slow descent to the collar of my shirt. "Tell me why you won't. What's wrong with me?" Another tear follows its friend, my breathing becoming more like gasping, insides writhing and burning.

The Doctor bites his bottom lip, perfect white teeth clasping the appendage, emotions at war in his eyes as he seeks to find a way to answer me. How hard can it be to answer? Surely he knows why he's been treating me like a leper. Scratch that, he would still get closer to a leper than to me. I sniffle a few more times and just stand there, waiting silently. I can hear my heart pounding in anticipation and fear; I wonder if he can hear it too? The minutes stretch on and my fury from earlier returns. Bastard. The utter fucking bastard. Here I go pouring my heart out to him and all he can do is stand there, saying nothing. God, I just want to punch him! My hands knot back into fists, ready to strike.

Trembling all over, I know I can't hit him. It feels as if they room's filling with smoke: my eyes water and I start choking to breathe, throat becoming scratchy. I look off to the side, unable to stare at his eyes any longer, his stupid, hurtful, mesmerizing eyes. I hate you.

I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you… And the scale tips, tears streaming down my face, hot, wet, angry. At him, at myself, at my pettiness, my stupidity. I spin on my heels and run away, down the stairs and into the corridor, away from him and his painful silence.

I keep going till I hit a dead end. I throw my fists hard against the wall, crying out from both the pain in my hands and my heart. I bang over and over again into the paint, sobbing openly, tears still spilling across my cheeks, chin and neck. Stupid, stupid, stupid, fucking useless…I sniffle and slump gracelessly to the ground, curling onto myself, weeping into my knees. Why me?

* * *

><p>I don't really know how long it's been since my breakdown in front of the Doctor. Long enough that we had to go to the first ever Highland Games to settle a bet between Amy and him that ended in us encountering aliens trying to fix the results and a whole lot of running. But not long enough for us to speak to each without Amy around.<p>

Today, Amy decided she wanted a day off to relax and pamper herself at an exclusive spa in the Virgo Cluster. Wonderful stuff that psychic paper. So, naturally, being the brave former Roman I am, I'm hiding in our bedroom so I don't risk running into the Doctor. It's really sad and pathetic and even more juvenile than being jealous over the fact that he hasn't kissed me, but I just don't know what I'd do if I ran into him. God, I've barely been able to look at him since it happened, let alone go on adventures with him and be forced to speak to him when absolutely necessary (like warning him about the axe flying at his head).

Before Amy sauntered off, I managed to grab a few books from the library to keep myself occupied. Thus far, I've read the same page of some Ionian manifest oh…thirty times. I've tried all the other books, but the same thing keeps happening. I just can't focus on anything. All I can think about is what that idiotic, selfish, floppy haired, beautiful psychopath is up to and whether or not he's thinking about me as much as I'm thinking about him.

Stupid, Rory. I snarl and hurl the book across the room, listening to it hit the wall with a satisfying smack. I sit up on the bed pressing the heels of hands into my eyes trying to clear my mind of thoughts of him. I sigh and start my counting and breathing.

1 breathe in, 2 and out. 3 in, 4 out. 5 – a knock at the door makes me stop. I groan, pressing my face deeper into my hands. There's only one person that can be…unless River's made it back on the ship – but then, she wouldn't knock. Fuck, fuck, fuck, bloody fucking shit hell, fuck. Just go away, I mentally plead. Another knock, this one more timid than the first, like he knows I don't want to answer. Well of course he knows that, you dolt. How many men would answer the door to the guy that broke their heart?

C'mon, go answer the door; you can't sit here wallowing in self pity for the rest of your life. I spent 2,000 years in front of a fucking box, I'm sure I can wait out the Doctor. "And now I'm arguing with myself," I whisper quietly. I sigh rubbing my hands down my face, eying the door warily. A third barely-there knock. If you don't answer, you'll never forgive yourself.

Decided, I swing my legs off the bed and stride towards to the door. Gripping the handle, I take one last breath of resignation before twisting and pulling. There in front of me is the man that still haunts my thoughts, hair hanging across his face, bowtie snugly tucked into the collar of his shirt, braces showing off his trim torso and broad shoulders. His hands are clasped behind his back, eyes directed at the floor. I clear my throat, wanting him to get whatever it is he came here to do over with.

His eyes meet mine and my breath catches. They're so old in a face so young, it's brutal looking into their stunning depths. "Rory," he says simply, quietly as though trying not to disturb our surroundings. I say nothing back, leaning against the door frame, handle still held tight, attempting to convey "get a move on" with my eyes. "Right," he says bringing his hands round to his front, fingers twitching. "May I come in?"

I really wish you wouldn't, but I let go of the door and walk back into the room. I turn and prop myself on the desk folding my arms across my chest, watching the Doctor come in. This is absolute torture; I keep flitting between wanting to punch him and kiss his brains out. My heart starts beating faster, nails digging into the skin of my arm to keep me in place and distract me from my thoughts.

His fingers start playing with themselves, eyes darting about the room, looking everywhere but at me. Please just say something; the silence is killing me, reminding me of my confession. My nails bite a little harder. I can't stand this, I take a breath about to tell him to go when: "It's because you're special." Barely a whisper, but I hear it.

I'm special? What the fuck does that mean? "What?" I ask from my perch on the desk, eyes completely focused on him.

He sighs, dropping his hands by his side, before sliding them into his pockets. He turns his head in my direction, tilting it to one side. "That night when you asked me why I'm not affectionate towards you, like how I am with everyone else," it hurts even more when he says it, my stomach wrenching. "It's because you're special."

My heart beats a little faster at his admission. But…"That still doesn't really tell me much."

He turns his head away, running a hand up his face, eyes squeezed shut, tangling his fingers in his hair. "You're not just Rory Williams, the nurse from Leadworth anymore," he says, tugging at his hair viciously. "You're Rory the Roman, the man who waited for 2,000 years," he laughs dryly looking at me again. "You're one of the few people I've met who's older than I am. But you're unique, because you understand what it's like having the body of a 20-year-old with the memories of the Roman Empire, the Dark Ages…we're probably the only two people in this galaxy who know the _real _story behind the Mona Lisa!"

I can't help but smile at that; his weird sense of humour has always been a weak spot of mine. "You're one of two people that I've seen die and then remarkably come back into my life," he says incredulously, releasing his hair. I raise an eyebrow at that. One of two? "It's a long story," he replies to the unspoken question. "That's one of the reasons I don't touch you anymore, or get close to you," he speaks softly turning so his body faces me as well. I knit my brows in confusion, my heart's rhythm picking up even more. His lips quirk into a small smile before falling again. "Every time I feel your skin on mine, feel its warmth, the radiating heat, the faint pulse of blood, it just reminds me how for the majority of your life you were cold and made of plastic. How sickly and unreal it was under my fingertips, touching you at Stone Henge and then at the museum."

My fingernails release the flesh of my arm, breath caught in my throat, our eyes still locked. "On the rare occasions I do touch you, it takes every ounce of will power and strength I have to keep from holding onto you forever, touching every piece of skin I can reach, just to make sure you're real, that you're no longer a copy." I gulp, heat racing to my face and groin as my stomach flip flops.

"Whenever you talk of Rome or your time with the Pandorica, I just want to touch you, make sure you're still our Rory, flesh and bone and blood and oh so human," he steps towards me, one hand shooting back into his hair, pulling it away from his eyes. "That's why I keep my distance," he adds, contrasting his statement by stopping only several inches in front of me.

I can't believe this is happening. This can't be happening. Breathing becoming faster, harsher, I feel the blush radiating down my face and neck, my jeans becoming tighter as more and more blood rushes south. I lower my arms to my side, hands resting lightly on the edge of the desk. "And the kissing?" It slips out my mouth before I can stop it. Definite lack of blood to the brain right now. I suck in a few quick breaths, tingles racing across my body.

He chuckles smoothly, richly, closing the gap between us until our noses lightly brush each other. I fight the shudder that wants to take over my body, trying to control my breathing, the fast pace of my heart. "If just holding your wrist sends me into a frenzy, what do you think kissing you's likely to do to me?" Oh fuck. I bite my lip to hold in a whimper, fingers gripping the desk for all their worth. His hand slides from his hair and onto my jaw, thumb tracing along my cheek. "You're one of a kind, Rory Williams," he practically sighs, warm breath ghosting across my lips. My heart thumps loudly, cock twitching in my pants. "Don't you think you deserve _not _to be treated like everyone else?"

His eyes fall shut and then I feel lips against my own. Warm, dry, soft, wonderful lips. I groan, my eyes closing as I instantly press back into the kiss. God, I can't believe I'm doing this. I'm kissing the Doctor! I arch up into him as he tilts his head, lips moving against mine. They're so supple, yet firm, demanding that I give everything I've got. And I'm more than happy to oblige.

I reach out my left hand, grabbing his hip, pulling him closer to me. I need our bodies closer, closer…Lightning shoots down my spine and I tremble against him. He grabs my bottom lip between his teeth, tugging lightly. I moan, bucking my hips against his, our erections meeting, rubbing.

Gasping, we break away from the kiss. The blood's pounding in my ears, panting for air as I try to regain my senses after feeling him like that against me, feeling his hardness for me. He wants me. Fuck. Precum starts pooling in my boxers. His hand slips into my hair, bringing our faces closer together. "Do that again," he breathes, before crushing our mouths back together. I growl low in my throat, rolling my hips into his, desperate to feel his cock against mine. We both moan into the kiss, teeth clicking together, the Doctor sliding his tongue into my mouth. He tastes like Jammy Dodgers. I suck on the intruder, tracing it with my own tongue, fingers digging into his hip like a lifeline.

He groans at my actions, grinding himself into me, our erections coming together, the sweet friction shooting sparks throughout my body. I break off from the kiss and move my lips to his neck. He moans, arching into me as I lick a trail up to his ear. I graze my teeth gently along the lobe, before taking it inbetween them and nibbling. "Ah!" he gasps, fingers tightening in the hair at the back of my head. I bite down harshly, tugging on the appendage. "Rory," he whines, writhing against me.

Oh fuck, I could get used to hearing that. I release his hip and the desk bringing my hands to his bowtie. Letting go of his earlobe, I kiss my way down his neck, fingers deftly loosening the knot as the Doctor continues to thrust and wriggle deliciously against me. Grabbing a hold of his braces I push them off his shoulders, down his arms. I scrape my fingernails up his biceps and across his collarbones, relishing his shivering, bringing our pelvises into contact over and over again. I undo the first few buttons of his shirt, exposing the last remaining inches of his neck to me. My tongue darts out to taste the newly uncovered skin, hands continuing with the rest of his buttons.

His breath pants across my ear as I reach the bottom of his shirt. Gliding my hands up his flat abdomen, I bite down at the junction of his neck and shoulder. "Shit!" he shouts, body stilling. God, he's hot. My fingers trace over ribs before trailing up his chest. I press my palms flat on his pectorals, feeling the beating of an individual heart under each.

I release the Doctor's neck and pull back to examine my hands on his chest, rising and falling quickly with each breath. I always knew he had two hearts, but to actually feel them…it makes my own single heart beat even faster. His hand releases my hair and slides down the back of my neck. I tilt my head up our eyes locking. His pupils are blown wide, the flecks of gold barely visible; cheeks glowing pink; lips swollen and kiss bruised. My cock pulses reminding me of the raw need coursing through my body. I slip my tongue out to moisten my own lips. The hearts beneath my fingers do a double beat.

"Bed?" I arch an eyebrow. The Doctor smiles wolfishly, bringing our heads back together, lips, teeth, tongues meeting and battling as we stumble towards the bed. Tripping, we collapse onto the mattress together, our legs tangling. The Doctor's hands move to trace the space between my shirt and jeans, silently begging. Desire shoots through me, my dick leaking even more precum as his fingers touch my bare skin. Shit, this isn't gonna last long. I lean back on my knees – I vaguely hear a whimper, but don't know if it was him or me – and pull my shirt over my head, throwing it across the room.

I dive back in, catching his lips in a fierce kiss, slipping my tongue in his mouth; I'm beginning to crave his favourite biscuit. His fingers sketch patterns down my back, exploring and touching every inch of skin making my cock throb in my boxers. He pauses at the waistband of my pants, thumbs stroking my hipbones.

Pulling back from the kiss, I rest my weight on one arm tracing the fingers of my left hand down his body, mimicking him by stopping at the button of his slacks. "Please," I whisper both in question and my own need. We're both breathing harshly as the Doctor's nimble fingers make their way to the front of my jeans. He gives me one last look before watching his hands as he pops the metal button, then gingerly tugs down the zip. I bite my lip at the movement of the denim against my straining erection.

The Doctor's hands are back on my hips pushing at the material of my boxers and jeans, forcing them lower. He tugs them both over my member and I can't hold back the gasp the escapes my throat. The cool air of the room against my bare flesh is nothing compared to the searing hot pleasure of his eyes glued to my skin. Fuck, I can't hold on much longer. His hand wraps lightly around me, a small pearl of precum beading at the head. "Oh God!" I moan burying my face in his neck, my finger and thumb making quick work of his button and fly before delving in, pulling out the Doctor's leaking hard cock.

I give an experimental tug, a keening noise ripping itself from his throat as the Doctor begins to move his hand up and down me. Fuck, he feels so amazing. The weight of him in my hand, his breath against my neck, the way his fingers glide along me making me see starts. Then, he twists his wrist just so and I swear my heart stops beating. "Doctor," I rasp, my hand picking up its pace, stroking his cock in quick firm pulls.

Back curving off the bed, he starts matching my movements. His thumb brushes the tip, swirling the precum that's collected there and I feel my toes curling. "Fuck, Doctor," I groan into his skin, flicking my wrist with every upstroke on his cock. "I'm…I'm not g-gonna…" I can even get the words out, I'm too far gone, he's too fucking good.

"Don't," he whimpers, more precum oozing down his shaft. A few more sweeps against the head of my cock and white explodes behind my eyes. I scream into the mattress as wave after wave of pleasure come crashing through me. "Oh, Rory!" the Doctor cries, his whole body going taught before his hips start thrashing wildly, hot spurts of come coating my fingers as I continue stroking him.

The Doctor shudders one last time before going still, breath coming in short pants. I roll off him onto the sheets, my heart still going a million beats per minute. "Wow…that was…" I can't even fathom words to describe how blissfully intense that was.

I hear a chuckle beside me and turn my head so I'm looking at the Doctor, his breathing still erratic. "Yeah," he smiles, eyes dancing across my face. "Imagine feeling like doing that every time you do a good job or we narrowly escape death and you'll understand why I refused to touch you."

I grab an old shirt from the floor, cleaning myself up before turning to the Doctor to wipe up his stomach. "I'm failing to see why that's a bad thing, Doctor," I smirk mischievously down at him. I lean in and give him a quick peck on the lips, his tongue poking out to lick at them as I pull away. I push back the hair sticking to his forehead, bringing our lips together again.

A door slams, making me jump. "Boys! Rory? Doctor?" the Scottish twang bounces down the corridor, resounding loudly in the stillness of the room.

"That's why."

**Fin.**


End file.
